-- A day later --
Mister Smitty got up from being belly-scratched, lounging upside down in the freshly cut grass to go on a hunting expedition in the tall mysterious grasses of the Grassy Knoll.
“Mister, Mister Smitty is a hunting smitty.”
“He’s disappeared into the tall grasses. You can’t see him at all.”
“He must like it.”
“He’s probably heading for the crop circ—“
“—de soleil.”
“Mister, maybe the Smitty MAKES the crop circles!!”
“He probably gets his peeps to do it.”
“He’s just checking on their work.”
“Quality control.”
“Yo, this circle is all hamma-jag.”
“What do you think I pay you for? Sneakin’ my food in the middle of the night… perpetratin’ inferior-quality crop circles…”
“I’m going to fire your ass back to Iowa if you don’t get them circles right.”
(Mr. Smitty is a stern task-master with his peeps, yo.)
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